Unlike Pluto
by GeniusofFun
Summary: He remembers Misa Amane as the ditzy blonde with the powers of a God and a Kira fetish. But, more importantly, he remembers her as, well, a woman (and yet here he is). male!Misa-SI
1. Chapter 1

**He remembers Misa Amane as the ditzy blonde with the powers of a God and a Kira fetish. But, more importantly, he remembers her as, well, a woman (and yet here he is). male!Misa-SI**

 **Unlike Pluto**

| welcome to your life, there's no turning back |

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' _Your son is adorable.'_

Like he hasn't heard that one before.

Mirai Amane rolls pretty blue eyes, child-like and innocent, at the woman who's stopped to coo over him. She's middle-aged and wears too much lipstick and Mirai prays that she won't try to kiss him anywhere and leave a big stain.

People have a tendency to do that and he hates it (he's supposed to be twenty-eight _dammit_ and should be doing more important things than, well, whatever _this_ is).

"Mirai." His mother's voice stops his internal monologue and he peers up at her, her hold on his hand tightening almost to the point of breaking off his circulation. "What do we say to the nice lady?"

Mirai wants to pout, throw a tantrum or throw something period – anything will do; that garbage can, his teddy bear, the one he didn't want and still doesn't want but has to carry anyways, that woman's lipstick.

Instead, his expression becomes blank and he bows, just like his father taught him to.

"Thank you very much." His words only make the woman squeal harder and she moves to crush him to her chest. He deflects her quickly and the woman blinks at him while he smiles.

"He's a bit shy." His mother answers with a laugh and that's a lie because Mirai isn't shy, he just hates being touched. His mother and father, well, he doesn't have much of a choice, but the rest can go to hell for all he cares because it's his personal space _dammit_.

"Oh, that's perfectly understandable." And the woman has regained her senses and smiles at Mirai and that's when he notices that the woman's lipstick also stained her teeth (he almost gags right then and there).

"Oka-san." He tugs at his mother's hand. "We'll be late meeting Otou-san…" Not that Mirai cares much about dinner dates with his father, but any excuse is valid to escape this situation.

Both women laugh, at him or at what he said, well, he isn't sure and, frankly, he doesn't care (grown-ups have a way of making you feel almost stupid and Mirai hates it because, what the hell, he should be an adult by now, is an adult trapped inside a child's body).

"Boys are always closer to their fathers." The strange woman says almost like she knows what's she's talking about. "But they always take care of their mothers."

Mirai wants to snort (his mother, the real one, the previous one, could burn in hell for all he cared and his father, the one before, hell was just too good for him), but manages to keep it in and smiles, batting his blonde eyelashes, at his mother.

"Oh, look at the time." His mother says, peering at her watch. "We have to go or we'll be late. Have a nice day." He lets himself be pulled off and even waves at the woman as they walk away.

"When you grow up…" His mother says and he doesn't know if it's happiness or sadness in her voice – maybe a bit of both. "You'll be a real lady killer."

She winks at him, like it's a secret, like it's something between just the two of them (and Mirai can't really remember anything about the Amane family except that they die and, well, that's just inevitable so why should he attach himself to people who will leave him in the end).

Obviously, his mother doesn't mean that in the literal sense. Mirai wonders how exactly she would react if she knew that was raising a killer, an actual one.

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The details of his death are a little fuzzy in the sense that remembers dying (it's painful and it hurts and he bleeds everywhere and every muscle and bone aches), but he can't quite remember _how_.

But death is a bitch and Mirai is too cynical and not spiritual enough to believe that there is anything after it. He takes it like he takes everything else life – now death – throws at him and accepts the darkness that envelops him like a cocoon and decides that sleeping for the rest of eternity might not be such a bad thing.

Well, it did not seem like such a bad thing, not until he is pulled away from his slumber and takes a deep, very real, breath.

Someone speaks as he blinks up at the hospital ceiling (maybe this was all some elaborate joke or maybe he was just in a coma; either way, he hopes he isn't paralyzed or missing any limbs) and he wants to move, talk, do something, anything –

He can't.

Because he's a baby and babies don't talk (they cry, they shit, they drink and eat and sleep, but they don't talk and, even if he could, how would he explain all of this without ending up in the nuthouse).

And worst, he can't even understand a single word (it's clearly Asian, maybe even Japanese, but he's never really been gifted at the art of languages and relies on his instinct purely and all he knows is that he can't understand a word, not one word), except, well for his name.

'Amane, Mirai.' And while it does have a nice ring to it, he has to pause in horror at the last name, his last name now (he wants to laugh hysterically, but ends up crying instead because this is the worst kind of joke anyone could play on someone and, of course, it had to happen to him).

He remembers Misa Amane as the ditzy blonde with the powers of a God, the beauty of a Goddess and a very obvious Kira fetish (and Death Notes and Shinigamis, a boy named Light who will become the greatest mass murderer in history and a detective named Lawliet that will die trying to stop him), but, more importantly, he remembers Misa Amane as, well, a _woman_.

A very pretty, devoted, blonde and dark clothes loving _woman_.

And yet, here he is (he wants to find it funny, he can't).

* * *

 **a/n : Should I be starting another fic? No. Is this a good idea? Probably Not. Will I finish this? Sure, I will. Anyways... I'd explain, but I really can't. So, let me know what you think?**


	2. Chapter 2

**But, unlike Misa, unlike his female counterpart, he'll be ready.**

 **Unlike Pluto**

| even while we sleep, we will find you |

.

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' _Perfect. Now, to the left._ '

The thing is, Mirai –

Mirai grows up. He's five, six, seven, eight – technically, anyways. He goes to school, has friends, comes home every day to a lovely house where everything is warm and loving. His mother is never far, no, her precious baby boy and Mirai –

Mirai grows up. He's nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen – technically anyways.

He is a blonde head in a sea of dark ones; he draws attention. He doesn't mind, not the attention, not the auditions, not the call backs or the photoshoots or the extra cash (he likes that part, not that the Amane family needs the money, but there are some scars that remain from his previous life).

No. If he's honest (which he isn't, not at all), what Mirai _minds_ … (and what's the use in knowing the future if the entire story line acts like a little bit**)

"If the wind blows, your face will remain like that." His mother says, tapping an index finger between his brows and rubbing soft circles. "What's wrong, sweetie?" She asks when he doesn't smile.

' _You're supposed to be dead_.' He doesn't say, no, but he knows. The Amane family isn't supposed to last this long, no, he's almost sixteen and he's supposed to be an orphan, dammit.

"Just tired, mom." He lies, yawning loudly and pushing a hand to his mouth. Honestly, modeling is the least tiring job he's ever had – well, the previous him had, anyways.

"Oh, baby." His mother is warm and she would be soothing if Mirai didn't have a barrage of old memories, of a life that certainly isn't this lush or, well, nice (he doesn't do nice). "Let's go home."

She pulls him by his arm and he doesn't mind, he doesn't mind the warm caress or the way people turn to stare at them (two blonde heads in a sea of dark ones and Mirai gets most of his looks from his mother, not that anyone bothered to ask).

He does like her, in some way. There's a part of him that doesn't want to get attached, that knows – is supposed to know – when she'll die and that it will gruesome and painful.

But, if he's honest (which he isn't, no, really, that's not him), Mirai –

He wants it.

The worst part of being reborn in this universe would be not to take part in the madness that is meant to happen. He knows he still has three, four years before some wide eyed disbelieving teen picks up the notebook, before L arrives in Japan, before Shinigamis and apples and Kira are meant to become Misa Amane's world.

And if his parents don't die, if the timeline can miss something that important, does this mean there won't be a Kira or an L or Shinigamis or Death Notes?

"What's got you so serious?" Mirai blinks back into reality as his mother sets a plate in front of him. His father, from the opposite side of the table, looks at him with a quirked eyebrow and an amused smile.

"Thinking. I'm just thinking." He answers and, no, it's not a lie, not really.

"Care to share?" His father, he likes his father. Memories of the previous one pale in comparison to this man, this one who clearly loves his wife and his son and his life.

Mirai has to pause at that because he can hardly 'share', not if he wants to remain at this table and not in some nut house with a white vest on, but –

He knows, knows that he has to do something to make sure the events of the timeline actually take place (the worst part of being reborn in this universe would be not to take part in the madness that is meant to happen).

So, he sighs, he really doesn't have many options but to –

(and Mirai won't kill his parents, no, the more he thinks about it, the more it wouldn't make sense because Misa Amane had always been to obvious and Mirai, Mirai really isn't)

"I'm thinking of getting my grades up. Of going to university." He offers and no, he's not that thrilled, because Mirai may not be stupid, but he isn't exactly book smart either (not that anyone ever expected this of him, certainly not in his previous lifetime).

Both his parents blink at the same time.

"University?" His mother says, surprised.

"Really?" His father's eyes sparkle. "We can get a tutor or enroll you for cram school, whatever is best." Deep down, the man is a traditionalist. And while he'll never stop loving, there's an amount of pride to his tone that almost makes this decision less painfully boring – almost.

"Yeah." He says with very little enthusiasm as both his parents busy themselves with a conversation about his future which, of course, he's excluded from.

If he's lucky (which, he won't lie, he kind of is), the main events will unfold exactly as they happened in the anime. Light will pick up the Death Note before he starts university, L will arrive in Japan just before the entrance exam, some Shinigami will rescue Mirai and drop his notebook and Rem will come and deliver it.

But, unlike Misa, unlike his female counterpart, he'll be ready. And, with both his parents alive, no one will think he's doing this for revenge and, disguised as a Senpai attending the same university, he'll have some plausible reason for being near the whole L and Light battle.

Yes, he nods to himself, yes, that makes perfect sense.

"But, Mirai, what do you want to study?" He blinks up at his mother's voice who hides a smile at his father's cheerful demeanor (this man, he loves his son and his wife and his life).

"Uh, criminology?" Not that he has any real interest in the subject, but he supposes that chasing wanted criminals – or being one and knowing how not to get caught – sounds pretty fun.

If that happens to be the subject Light Yagami will take in Toho, well, _coincidences_ (but, really, no).

* * *

 **a/n: after the overwhelming positive response to this story, I present to you the second chapter. A lot of people asked if this would be YAOI, which, honestly, I really don't know anything about pairing, but maybe, maybe not. But thank you to everyone, everyone who reviewed and liked this story. You guys are swell and I will try to update fast. Let me know what you think, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. See you next time.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Maybe he's more like Misa Amane than he likes to believe.**

 **Unlike Pluto**

| acting on your best behaviour |

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'Kurou Otoharada has taken hostages…'

Mirai has never been the patient type (he wakes at night, roused from sleep by thoughts of death and Shinigamis, skin drenched in sweat, heart thumping in anticipation and he wants, no, he aches for what is to come).

And if people say that time flies quicker when one is occupied, then – they're idiots.

By the time he's almost twenty, he's become something of a celebrity with his boyish pouts and tousled blonde hair. He's on the cover of magazines and some people call him a heartthrob, even if he's never had a girlfriend (or a boyfriend and some people speculate, but they don't know shit).

School is hard, but it's nothing he didn't anticipate. He has to put in actual work to keep up, not only to get in, but to stay afloat while some people breeze by. Mirai is cunning and, in a way, smart, but there are nights he spends buried in textbooks, dark circles under his eyes and pens and papers scattered everywhere.

His mother tells him to sleep, his father brings him snacks and even tries to help and the normalcy of it all makes time pass by even slower (he doesn't want normal, dammit, no, he doesn't want that at all).

His only advantage in this life is knowing the events before they actually happen and so far his knowledge hasn't served him at all (the Amane family remains alive and never once makes any mention of having another child, perfectly content with the one they already have), but –

Less than a month before his twentieth birthday, Mirai –

Mirai stares at the screen of his television with rapt attention. He can't recall the name of the man at first, but the incident is so similar that he has to pause on the news channel and waits with bated breath as the spokesperson explains quickly that a man has taken hostages in a nursery school.

So, here it is, here is the first main event of the timeline. Light Yagami should have picked up the notebook and be seated in front of his TV, pondering the truth of the Death Note and what it can actually do.

As people wait for a savior, Mirai wants death.

He bumps his knee several time, eyes fixated on the screen his fists clenched so tight he can't feel them anymore (there's a trail of something wet and he'll only realize later that it's blood, nails digging so hard into his palm that it broke the skin).

He swears to himself that if it doesn't happen, he'll find the notebook himself and shove so far up Light Yagami's ass that even the Shinigami Ryuk won't be able to find it.

(And that thought, even if vulgar and without any real taste, makes the corners of his mouth twitch, a slow smirk spreading on his face and turning it almost, well, evil).

But then, then it happens – the camera zooms and moves to the right where people are coming out fast, running into the streets and into the arms of loved ones and policemen alike.

For a second, Mirai forgets to breath.

'It appears that Kurou Otoharada collapsed from a heart attack.' The news lady announces, hints of disbelief in her tone and with eyes softer, as if this is an act of God himself.

For a second, Mirai doesn't know what to do. There's something that pulsates inside his vein, moving and coiling inside his body, a metaphorical snake that hisses and bares it's fang, ready to bite.

But reality reappears, the faint buzz of the television in his ears as he throws himself back on his bed, fists coming undone and that grin on his face, as if awed that it actually happened (and no, he _isn't_ crazy and the memory of straightjackets and white padded cells becomes distant).

He basks in the afterglow of the revelation, that Death Notes exist and that he really can divine the future and what will happen. This is only the beginning, a small flame that has started a fire bigger than anyone will ever anticipate.

(Later, much later, he'll wonder about choosing sides, about righteousness and justice, about his morals – that are barely there to begin with – about dark haired detectives and pretty boys with amber eyes).

"Mirai…" His mother knocks, but she opens the door even before he told her to come in. She finds him like this, sprawled on his bed, television still on and now showing something else he doesn't pay attention to.

He waves at his mother, but doesn't bother to stand up, that stupid awed grin still plastered on his pretty face.

"Your father will be out late. I was thinking takeout?" He sits upwards and smiles at the woman. Even with her greying hair and the few wrinkles on her forehead, her looks are still so similar to his.

"How about we go out?" It's not that takeout with his mother doesn't sound delicious. "My treat." It's just the recent events make him feel generous.

And while his parents are rather well-off and pay for everything he could ever want or need, he does make a fair bit of money from the shoots and magazine covers (he stockpiles hundreds of dollars carefully, always expecting the worst, an old habit, one he can't shake).

His mother raises an eyebrow, but there's a smile on her face.

"Something good happen?" He can't really tell her the truth, can't tell her that today marked the birth of the most notorious killer the world had ever seen, that tomorrow there would twenty more dead inmates, that Mirai would waste half of his life if it meant he could see people's name and write down names very aware that he would kill them.

He merely stands up and moves towards her, pushing a hand on her warm shoulder.

"Not really." He smiles. "I'm just in a good mood today." Which isn't technically a lie, it's just not the truth either.

"Fine, don't tell me…" The woman shakes her head, a few blonde hair falling from the bun on her head, laughter in her voice. "Put on a jacket, it's supposed to be cold out tonight."

He rolls his eyes, that stupid grin making his cheeks hurt and, as he takes out a jacket from his closet, he has the urge to plop down on his bed and flap his feet in the air (he doesn't even shudder at the thought, the memory of stripped red and black stocking and pigtails vivid in his head even if it never happened).

Maybe he's more like Misa Amane than he likes to believe.

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 **a/n: Mirai is... I don't even know how to describe him. He's everything you want him to be and not at the same time. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this, thank you to everyone who reviewed last time, I'm glad you enjoy Mirai. Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought and I'll see you next time.**


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